—but too late; too late and too slow, because as Fezzik moved in front of Westley, Inigo attacked, the great blade blinding, and the fourth guard was dead before the first one had had sufficient time to hit the floor.
Inigo stood still a moment, panting. Then he made a half turn in the direction of Count Rugen and executed a quick and well-formed bow. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
And in reply, the Count did a genuinely remarkable and unexpected thing: he turned and ran. It was now 5:37.
King Lotharon and Queen Bella arrived at the wedding chapel in time to see Count Rugen leading the four guards in a charge down the corridor.
“Are we too early?” Queen Bella said, as they entered the wedding chapel and found Buttercup and Humperdinck and the Archdean.
“There is much going on,” the Prince said. “All, in due time, will come matchlessly clear. But I fear there is a strong possibility that, at this very moment, the Guilderians are attacking. I need time alone in the garden to formulate my battle plans, so could I prevail upon you two to personally escort Buttercup to my bedchamber?”
His request was, naturally, granted. The Prince hurried off then, and, after one stop to unlock a closet and remove several pairs of boots that had once belonged to Guilderian soldiers, he hurried outside.
Buttercup, for her part, walked very slowly and peacefully between the old King and Queen. There was no need ever to worry, not with Westley there to stop her wedding and take her away forever. The truth of her situation did not take genuine effect until she was halfway to Humperdinck’s room.
There was no Westley.
No sweet Westley. He had not seen fit to come for her.
She gave a terrible sigh. Not so much of sadness as of farewell. Once she got to Humperdinck’s room, it would all be done. He had a splendid collection of swords and cutlery.
She had never seriously contemplated suicide before. Oh, of course she’d thought about it; every girl does from time to time. But never seriously. To her quiet surprise, she found it was going to be the easiest thing in the world. She reached the Prince’s chamber, said good night to the Royal Family, and went directly to the wall display of weaponry. The time was then 5:46.
Inigo, at 5:37, was so startled at the Count’s cowardice that for a moment he simply stood there. Then he gave chase and, of course, he was faster, but the Count made it through a doorway, slammed and locked it, and Inigo was helpless to budge the thing. “Fezzik,” he called out desperately, “Fezzik, break it down.”
But Fezzik was with Westley. That was his job, to stay and protect Westley, and though they were still within view of Inigo, Fezzik could do nothing; Westley had already started to walk. Slowly. Weakly. But he was, under his own power, walking.
“Charge it,” Fezzik replied. “Slam your shoulder hard. It will give for you.”
Inigo charged the door. He slammed and slammed his shoulder, but he was thin, the door otherwise. “He’s getting away from me,” Inigo said.
“But Westley is helpless,” Fezzik reminded him.
“Fezzik I need you,” Inigo screamed.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Fezzik said, because there were some things you did, no matter what, and when a friend needed help, you helped him.
Westley nodded, kept on walking, still slowly, still weak, but still able to move.
“Hurry,” Inigo urged.
Fezzik hurried. He lumbered to the locked door, threw his bulk against it hard.
The door held.
“Please,” Inigo urged.
“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” Fezzik promised, and he took a few steps back this time, then drove his shoulder against the wood.
